As the holiday season rolls around each year, I can’t help but think back to that Christmas nine years ago when I was heavily pregnant, my belly resembling a snow globe about to burst. Sleep was elusive; I was plagued by pregnancy migraines that made the twinkling lights outside feel like daggers in my eyes. I was exhausted, overly sensitive, and, above all, deeply anxious. While everyone else gathered around their festive trees, I was grappling with the reality that my life was on the brink of a monumental change. I remember lying in bed, whispering to myself, “What have I gotten myself into?”
Then, under the glow of a full moon just a few days after New Year’s, you arrived. Just like that, my identity shifted and I became your mother. When the midwives placed you in my arms, you were wailing fiercely, feeling like a tiny alien. Your cries resonated against my chest, and in that moment, you sparkled like a star.
Learning to love you was a journey. You were reluctant to nurse and refused to sleep. Those piercing blue eyes of yours would look straight into my soul at 3 a.m. when I found myself thinking, “I hate you.” But then, when you finally drifted off on my chest, I realized the depth of my love for you—an all-encompassing warmth that surged from my head to my toes.
You taught me that it’s okay to love fiercely, to feel overwhelmed by that love, and even to resent the challenges of motherhood. It’s permissible to wish for an escape while holding on with every ounce of strength.
Now, I see you in the dim light of December, nestled on the top bunk of your bed, engrossed in a game on your iPad. Your little brother is sound asleep, leaving just the two of us in this moment, reminiscent of when I would rock you for hours because you wouldn’t sleep. Those years of nursing and carrying you in a baby carrier, close to my heart, felt like they would never end.
I can hardly comprehend how we arrived at this point, where you’re now kicking me out of your bed after just a brief conversation. “Just wait on the bottom bunk,” you instruct. “You can stay until I fall asleep.” And so I wait. You doze off, and I watch you, stretched out with your long legs tangled in the covers. How is it that you’ll be nine next month? Where has the time gone? How many more Christmases until you’re no longer living under our roof? How many years until our daily conversations become rare?
I know this transition will be gradual yet swift, a rapid blink in the grand scheme of life. Regardless, I will always be your mother. I will love you fiercely, forever startled by the depth of this love and continually in awe of your genuine beauty.
Every Christmas for the rest of my days, I will reflect on how I eagerly anticipated your arrival, the moment that marked my journey into motherhood. You’ve made me a mama, and you will always remain my baby.
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Summary
In this reflective piece, Lila Thompson shares her emotional journey through motherhood, highlighting the profound love and challenges she faced when her child was born. As she reminisces about the past, she acknowledges the fleeting nature of time and her enduring role as a mother, while also providing resources for those on a similar journey.